Alexi
by IDontOwnEmotion
Summary: [RentFiction] Chapter 5 is up. Unexpected turn of events. please review.
1. Chapter 1

well. my first fan fic. i thought Alexi Darling should get a chance to tell her story. it might not be that good but reveiw anyway. burns are welcome

Disclaimer: Alexi Darling belongs to the late great Jonathon Larson.

I guess it all started the day I turned 18. I woke up that fateful day with dreams.

Dreams of becoming an actress, getting famous, marrying John Travolta and living

forever with him in the limelight. But as most of us know, sometimes u can start out with dreams and end up with a nightmare.

That's what I thought as I stepped outside the studio in my red blazer and pants suit. I shook a cigarette out of my pack of Marlboros and held it up 2 my too red freshly painted lips. I'm up to three packs a day now. Can you believe that? Three fucking packs? I should just shoot myself now. But no one knows. No one probably cares. "Alexi? Um hi…uh ten minutes." The nervous looking intern interrupts my train of thought. "Whatever." I light the cigarette with my free hand, and it was like lighting up my past.

That morning…My birthday…So clear…I can see it.

I woke up to the sound of screaming downstairs. Mom must have burned breakfast again. "You stupid bitch," I hear my father's voice "I work eleven FUCKING hours a day and you cant FUCKING make me a decent meal without burning the FUCKING house down! You FUCKING whore!" I heard a loud whack and the sound of my mothers whimpering. If a man ever treated me like that I'd just hit the lazy basted back. Oh shit he's coming upstairs. "JANICE DINESE WIESS!" he says through the door." You get you lazy ass down here." I got up slowly and pulled a white shirt over my head with the words "Saturday Night Fever" written across the chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon owns Alexi. Stephen Sondhiem and Leonard Bernstein own "Tonight"

I had a song in my heart that day. It was "Tonight" from West Side Story.

Tonight, Tonight. Won't be just any night. Tonight there will be no morning star. Tonight. Tonight. I'll see my love tonight and for us stars will stop where there are. 

I always loved that song. I was going to use it for my audition for my high schools spring musical.

I remember being very optimistic that day despite my tyrannical overbearing oaf of a father and my cowering pathetic excuse for a mother forgetting my birthday. I was used to it by now.

I guess growing up I learned to turn and face the wind. The only thing you can ever do is make the best of things. I could never be like the girls that dressed all in black and pretended the world was just a shit hole when life didn't go their way.

I was just a normal happy American teenager with less than perfect living conditions.

It all changed that day.

So if I took all the money out of MY checking account and mom's emergency money under her bed that she thinks I don't know about that would be… um carry he 4… whoa. 2,000 dollars? That's enough to get to New York, hire an agent, get an apartment, and still have enough money for a new outfit and breakfast.

If I wait a year though… BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNG!

The blaring fire alarm abruptly brought me crashing down from my fantasy life. Fucking fire drills. Eh… an excuse to get out of class is fine with me.

But something was wrong

There were hushed whispers trickling down the hallways. Panicked looks on people's faces. An announcement over the P.A. "Please evacuate the building." That never happened before.

What's going on? Everyone calm down. It's only a fire drill. What are you whispering?

I heard a scream down the hall. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran in the direction of the scream and out of the last few moments of my life when I would ever be happy.

There she was. Sandi. My best friend Sandi McGold. I had known her since we were both 3. We had met at the park one day and our mothers thought it was so cute how we played with each other. Of course our friendship blossomed over the years into much more. Secrets, fears, crushes, love, hate, betrayal, loyalty.

She was there for me the first time my father hit me. I was there for her the day her mother died.

I loved Sandi like a sister. And there she lay. Dead at my feet, still clutching the fire alarm.

Sandi McGold. Dead at age 17.

Ok. Here we go getting into the really heavy stuff. I'll try to lighten it up if it shall please the public. Well tell me what you think.

ElpHaBaFaBaLaElPhIeFaE- thanks for my first review ever. I was jumping up and down with excitement at your kind words

Well until next time remember. I don't own emotion. I rent.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey. Sorry it took so long to update. It's been a busy week at school. Cheerleading tryouts AND auditions for school musical (sussical the musical!) we're both this week. Anyway, I don't own emotion or Alexi.

The police said he did it because she broke up with him.

The counselor said it was temporary mental insanity cause by rejection.

The kids at school said it was because she was a cheating skank.

All I know is my best friend is dead.

I was at the police station for 6 hours being interrogated by police. It was all way too much. What was Sandi like that day? Did she seem nervous or strange? Do I feel comfortable testifying in court against a boy I've known since 4th grade? Jesus Christ I'm barely 18!

They left me alone in the dark depressing interrogation room. A single bare light bulb flickered as it swayed back and forth. Almost hypnotizing to watch. Swaying along with my beating heart telling me one thing. Sandi is dead, Sandi is dead, Sandi is dead. Sandi is dead and you are in this depressing shit hole excuse for a room being interrogated about the death of you 17-year-old best friend who was stabbed in the stomach with her own nail scissors from her purse by her boyfriend of 2 months whom she had broken up with that morning. Sandi is uptown at the morgue in a little shelf while she waits for her mother to come and IDENTIFY HER DEAD DAUGHTER'S ROTTING COURPSE! She will later be sent to the local funeral home, Fishner and Sons, where they will drain all the remaining blood in her body (the blood that wasn't on the floor of the girls bathroom) and replace it with embalming fluid so her body doesn't deteriorate while they make her look all nice and pretty for her viewing. Like nothing ever happened. Like erasing her past. Her time has come, they'll say. Time heals all wounds. Bullshit. Time doesn't ever help. They pain will always be there.

I have to get away, I think suddenly. I can follow my plan. Get the money and leave. I'm a legal adult. I can do whatever the fuck I want. And right now all I want to do is leave this shitty little life and never return. Just start running and never look back.

And that's what I did. My mind raced as I ran towards my home.

Money…bank account…under the bed…bus tokens…$2.50 per person…suitcase in my closet…new life.


	4. Chapter 4

I checked my birth certificate and I know I'm still not Jonathon Larson and I still don't own Rent.

Have you even noticed that looking out the window of a moving car or bus makes you dizzy?

Its like you can't stand facing the state of here and now.

What's in the past? What's in the future?

Well right now I need to figure out the present.

I stepped off the bus and the freezing winter air bit me like a harsh force of reality.

Ok, I thought, you can do this. Step one is find a place to live. Ok I can do that. I need a newspaper.

Alright I lied. Step one is to keep your sanity long enough to find a newsstand.

I walked to the nearest newsstand, up the street. The heels of my shoes clunked on the hard pavement.

I was pushed against a crowd of people. All going someplace different. All going towards a change.

Nothing was impossible. Fear was nonexistent. This was New York City.

I scanned the rack of magazines and newspapers until I found what I was looking for.

Wow I never thought I'd actually be buying a New York Times. I am such a tourist.

_500, 40th and Broadway_

_9th floor penthouse_

_$14,000 a month_

_Contact William Gray at 610-970-4301 _

Ok. Maybe something a bit more in my price range.

_1220 30th street and avenue D_

_4th floor loft _

_21 year old non-psycho student and artist seeks roommate to help pay the rent_

_$100 a month_

_Contact Haze Caldwell at 919-763-0090_

Now that's more like it.

Oh my God. I actually did it. I am actually here, in New York.

Ok but, now that I'm here what the hell am I supposed to do?

Well ok. Step one was find an apartment. Check. It may be a two-room loft overlooking a lovely view of a drug dealer in an alleyway constantly vomiting. And there rats in the sink the last time I checked and you can't walk two feet without killing a cockroach. And there is a toilet in the living room. But I have a cute roommate with a great ass and there is only one bed and no couch. Yeah life is good.

Of course I really never see Haze. He's always either at school or locked in his room drawing or painting or more likely shooting up. He thinks I haven't noticed. I've only been here for three days.

Day one was possibly the greatest day of my life. It was like how someone feels after just beginning a race. A feeling like this is something I can do. This something I've wanted to do forever. You haven't truly lived until you have felt like this.

Stepping into the loft, and on a cockroach, I started to have doubts.

But is this not what I wanted? All my life I longed to suffer for my art. I longed to be out spoken and different. Maybe this was the life for me.

I'd just have to wait and see.

Next time: Alexi receives a bit of good luck and a crap load of bad luck

Until next time I don't own emotion


	5. Chapter 5

And now this brief interlude…

Oh how I wish I owned it, but I digress. Chapter title is taken from Stephen King's Christine also known as the best book ever.

God, why must he be so perfect? I thought as a stared longingly at Haze as he stared longingly at a blank canvas.

"Fuck this." I heard him mutter under his breath as he tossed a paintbrush across the room. It hit the wall with a dull empty thud and Haze sunk to the floor in a deep depression.

I never did understand artists. It's like nothing is ever good enough for them. Haze feet compelled to paint this beautiful picture about the parting of the Red Sea. The only problem was he could never go through with it. He would start, but always end up like this. In a fetal position against the wall. Christ, I'm sure Leonardo DiVinci cranked out a few duds before finally painting the Mona Lisa. Hmm…Artists. Who knows?

Haze stayed like that on the floor for a good ten minutes before I got the brilliant idea to, you know, get him to move or something.

"Um Haze?" I started timidly. I've hardly said anything to him since moving here. All he ever does is sit and stare, pick up a brush, stare at the canvas, sit back down, throw the brush and keep staring. It was like an endless cycle of torture of a brilliant mind.

Haze grunts an unintelligible reply. Lets try again shall we? "Uh well, um I've noticed you don't really get out much and um, I was uh wondering if um well…You-wanted-to-go-to-dinner-with-me-tonight.

I said the last part very fast, afraid of rejection.

Haze lifted his head and looked at me through those beautiful green eyes. Those eyes had brilliance, a meaning, an understanding surely not of this world.

Haze blinked at me. "What?" he questioned in a tired voice.

"Well, this new place just opened down the street and it looks really good…and cheap. Well cheap but not like bad cheap, just um…" I trailed off. Smart. Aw shit! He is totally going to say no. I know it. He's going to reject me and then I'm going to go into the bathroom, grab a Lady Bic razor, raise it above my wrist and

"Sure."

"What?"

"Sure. I'd love to. I need to get out more. This cramped space isn't good for my vibes."

Oh my God he said yes. Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God

Oh shit. I have nothing to wear.

"Um ok well, I'll go get ready and then we'll go, I guess."

We stepped out of the building and into the bitter winter air nipping at our flesh.

During the walk to the restaurant (called The Life Café. Is that not just so chic?) it began to snow. Hard. I didn't even notice.

The walk to The Life was silent and awkward. I hated myself for even asking him out in the first place. I bet you anything this is a pity date. I bet he regrets this right now and tomorrow he'll get together with a bunch of his trendy artist friends for coffee and they'll all laugh about the horrible date Haze had last night with his loser eighteen year old roommate. And I bet as Haze leans back in his chair he'll lovingly put his arm around a beautiful blond French performance artist smoking a cigarette and dressed all in black wearing a beret and black lipstick and eyeliner.

I know exactly how our date is going to go. We will get to The Life. There will be no conversation except for Haze commenting on the horrible service. I will have forgotten my wallet even though I made sure I had it seven times before leaving. I won't be able to pay the bill and Haze will have to pay it with what little money he has. Then we will run back to the loft in freezing rain, Haze will be so pissed at me that he won't even say goodnight to me. Then while Haze is taking a shower I will rip off this awful gaudy belt and hang myself with it.

"So why New York?" Haze breaks the silence.

"What?" I respond intelligently.

"Why did you come to New York?"

Oh yeah I never did tell anyone why exactly why I came here

"Um. I wanted to live my dream."

SILENCE!

"Um I wanted to be something more a girl from Joliet, Illinois."

Haze smiled at this and before long he burst out laughing.

"What?"

"I'm sorry but that is the lamest fucking thing I've ever heard."

"Um…"

"I mean that's not why anyone real comes to this city." He was on a roll. He would surly win the break Janice Wiess' heart contest.

"You come to this city to live. Not follow some shitty impossible dream."

Who is he to say it's an impossible dream. I look at him with hurt eyes. He didn't seem to notice.

I let out a long breath. "My…my friend died."

"What?"

"She was stabbed by her jealous boyfriend in the girls bathroom at my high school the day I turned 18. She knew she didn't have much time left so she stumbled out of the bathroom and pulled the fire alarm. She was my best friend. All I ever had. I loved her so much. I ran away from the police station half way through my interrogation and here I am. I didn't come here to live or to follow my dreams. I came here because I'm a pathetic person. I ran away from my problems and I never want to look back. Oh God Haze, I just want the pain to go away."

I burst into tears and buried my head in the front of his coat. Melting into him. He backed up against a wall and stroked my hair. "It's okay." He kept saying. Fucking liar. It will never be okay. Sandi will always be dead. I let out another sob as I realized I had never gone the funeral. I had never said goodbye. My truly last words to Sandi were "Let me see you history homework. Oh shit the bell. See you third period."

Once I believed I could truly cry no more I looked up into Haze's beautiful eyes. So comforting. That mysterious intelligence glimmered just beyond the surface. I waited like that for God knows how long. Just staring into his all knowing eyes through my puffy red ones. In those brief moments we truly saw each other. All our flaws and rough edges and deep thoughts. We knew all there ever was to know. No words ever needed to be spoken

After what seemed like a millennium Haze leaned down and brushed his lips against mine for a moment. Then he pressed his lips to mine in an expression of pure love. At first I was startled but it was not long before I kissed back. My entire self was in that one kiss.

We strolled back to the loft. When we got to the door the temperature had dropped 10 degrees. Snowflakes were falling all around us. We, oblivious, shared a small lovely kiss.

Aww first kiss. How cute. Brownie points to any1 who can figure out the Joliet Illinois reference. Answer will be at the beginning of the next chapter, which I promise will have something to do with her career.

Until next time I really don't own emotion.


End file.
